The Curse of Gray Gribnik
by Axeminister
Summary: Gray carries with him a mysterious box containing both riches and death. He's cursed to walk ever on, delivering the box to those who might gamble their fate, until he meets Calaria, who claims he may at last lay down his burden and return home.


The Curse of Gray Gribnik

Young Gray Gribnik couldn't help noticing the delightful smell of frog-leg soup boiling in the large cauldron behind him. A line of drool seeped out the corner of his mouth.

His father poked him with a stick. "Goblins aren't thieves," the elder Gribnik said. "Rogues, yes, but not thieves. Do you understand the difference?"

The boy gazed into the dancing flames in the fireplace.

"Answer me." His father poked him again.

"Yes, father." The boy sighed. "A thief steals, while a rogue earns through deception."

"It's important you understand that distinction. Now, march next door and return Mrs. Stinkywinkle's prized broach."

"But daaaad!"

"No buts! If you want the broach, trick her into giving it to you."

The boy stepped from his hovel into the dark blue light of evening and heard derisive laughter from all directions.

"What's the matter, Gray, can't keep your prize?" said the darkness. A shadow stepped forward, revealing itself to be Pixie, the leader of the local thieves guild. Pixie was only slightly older than Gray and very pretty.

He hesitated, willing his mouth to speak to her. "My dad says I have to return it and that I'm not a thief."

"Listen, runt," Pixie said, brandishing a knife. Quick as silver, she held it to the boy's throat. "You are a thief, and a good one. Don't ever forget that." Pixie returned the knife to its hilt. "Return the broach, but remember how you attained it. Someday, your name will be world-renowned."

Pixie and the others melted into the shadows and left Gray standing in the dark alone. Too embarrassed to confront his neighbor, Gray placed the broach in her mailbox and quickly returned home.

That night while lying in his bed in the carved out section of the hut, he recalled briefly the feel of the blade against his neck, but what his mind fixated on was the feeling of Pixie's tiny fingers which had pressed up against his throat. He smiled and drifted off to sleep.

Several nights later, while returning home with some stinkweed, Pixie appeared and shoved him up against the wall of the smithery. Before he knew what was happening, Pixie kissed him deeply. Just as Gray got his lips working, Pixie pulled away.

"I don't. . ." Gray stammered.

"I have a job for you," Pixie said.

Gray wondered if Pixie had ever kissed anyone before. He hadn't, and he was already playing back the experience. He wished he'd acted sooner by returning her kiss. Or maybe he should have thrown his arms around her.

"Do you want to hear what it is?"

Gray focused on her eyes and nodded.

"There's an old woman who lives under a giant turtle shell by the lake. She owns a Box O'Wonder."

Gray's eyes went wide. "Ooh, what's that?"

"The legends say when you put money in the box, it calls forth from the netherworld an item of equal value in trade. Yours to keep."

"Where does the money go?"

"I don't know, but the rumor is the box needs the coins to survive."

"Like we need food?"

"Exactly."

Gray nearly burst with pride. He was alone with Pixie, and she was talking to him! "How can we get it from her?"

"How can you get it from her. The thing is, she's very old and probably won't even hear you coming. A knife in the dark."

Gray shook his head emphatically.

"Mr. Gribnik." Pixie grabbed Gray by the shoulders. She pressed her body against him and brought her lips within a millimeter of his. "I'll make you a full member of the guild. Do you know what that means?"

Gray didn't move.

"You'd get to see me all the time."

Gray exhaled slowly. "What do I need to do?"

#

Midnight arrived. A sliver of moonlight lit the sky just enough for Gray to observe the old woman going about her business. When she finally splashed a bit of water on the last of her small fire and crawled into bed, Gray moved forward. His steps were light and swift. Not even a cat on the prowl would have noticed his passage. He brought up his knife for the killing blow and felt his limbs go rigid.

"A thief in the night is my delight," the old witch said. Flames sprang to life from the bed of black coals.

Gray tried to speak, to run, but he was frozen in place.

"What ever shall I do with you, boy?"

"Whatever it is, make it permanent," Pixie said, stepping from the darkness.

The orange firelight illuminated her face. She wasn't the pretty green girl Gray thought she was. On this night, she was a trickster.

"Do you know what respect is, Gray?"

"I do," he answered, relieved to be able to speak once more. He surprised himself by answering in a tone of resignation. But there was also a new level of maturity to it, as if seeing a darker side to the world had aged him in an instant.

"So you understand what it means to lose respect? Once lost, it can never be regained."

"It could be regained, if the person in question were open to the possibility."

"You never should have chosen your father over me. You were an initiate into the thieves guild and your assignment was to steal an item from a neighbor. Not to return it the next day."

"You've betrayed me because of that?"

"You disobeyed an order. You betrayed me!" Pixie looked away.

For the first time, Gray saw a glimmer of truth on Pixie's normally stoic face. She appeared remorseful. He knew that as guild leader she could show no favoritism for fear of usurpation, but here, while alone with him, there was something...

Gray's body unclenched and he tensed to run, but what would happen to Pixie?

"Pick up that box, boy," the witch said.

Gray noticed an ornate treasure chest nearby. "The Box O'Wonder. You're giving it to me?"

"It has a job to do, and you're going to help."

"I don't have any money to trade."

"Not you, boy. Them," the witch said and waved her arm in an arc that indicated the whole world. "I need fresh souls to keep my body young and beautiful."

Gray wanted to comment on her wrinkled face and hooked nose being far from beautiful, but instead he asked, "How do you get people's souls?"

"Do not question my abilities, boy! I shall not be conquered by something as simple as Death. Now, pick up the box."

Gray edged toward the chest and noticed the two shoulder straps attached to it. He slipped one arm underneath a strap and it pulled itself tight against him.

"Now the other arm," the witch said, eyes widening.

Gray slipped his other arm beneath the strap and lifted the large box onto his back.

The witch began casting. White sparks formed around her entire body and Gray was transfixed. The old woman mumbled in a language he didn't recognize then screamed a final word and pointed at Gray. The white sparks surrounded him and his feet walked forward completely on their own.

"What's happening?" Gray asked, but within moments he was out in the darkness alone. He turned his head and out of the corner of his eye saw the witch dropping coins into Pixie's outstretched hand.

Gray walked through the night to the dock and found himself sailing on the early morning vessel to Booty Bay. He wanted to go home, see his parents, sleep in his own bed. Instead, the boat docked and his feet started up again north through that day and the next.

His feet bled from so much relentless travel over tough terrain. His back ached from carrying the box, but somehow he had enough energy to continue all the way into Stormwind City until at last he felt the urge to set the box down.

The box crashed against the cobblestone. He tried to flee but found he couldn't step more than three paces from the box. He stood there for a long time, sore and confused, before a man stopped and rubbed his bearded chin.

"I say, is that the Box O'Wonder?" the man asked.

"Yes. Would you like to have it?"

"Me? No, no, no, dear sir. I don't... are you the owner of the box?"

"No."

"See, therein lies the problem. It is said the Gods themselves fashioned the box for their amusement, but as you know, no matter how much preparing you do to make a game foolproof, there's always someone who comes along and finds a way to muck it up."

"Change the rules you mean?"

"Precisely." The man pointed at the box. "What I mean is, any number of curses can be placed on that thing."

"How do you know so much about the box?"

The man rubbed his beard proudly. "I am a scholar. I know a lot of things about a lot of things. Plus, I recognize a dangerous object when I see one."

"My feet hurt and I just want to go home," Gray said. He hoped the man would get the hint and agree to take the box from him anyway.

"Open it up. I'd like to see the inside."

Taking this as a good sign, Gray unlatched the locks and opened the box. A green light emanated from within, but otherwise it appeared empty.

"My heavens." The man paced back and forth, mumbling to himself. At last he squared in front of the box. "I shall give it a go." He reached into a pocket and pulled out five gold coins. "Let's just hope this particular box is curse free."

The man dropped the coins in the box and looked expectantly at Gray.

Gray shrugged.

"Well, say what you're supposed to say."

"I don't know what that is."

"Well, I've already put my coins in so you'll have to make something up."

"Uh, give this man his just rewards, Box," Gray said. The green glow became a mist which ebbed and flowed.

The man reached his hand inside the box and let the green mist flow part way up his arm before retreating. He pulled forth a Pearl Handled Dagger. He looked at it and sighed. "Hardly worth the five gold, but that's gambling, eh Goblin?"

Gray stared into the box, trying to figure out where the dagger had come from.

"See you around young sir. Maybe."

A moment later, a man in a purple cloak approached the box. "How much is it for a try?"

Gray looked up. "I don't know, really. The other man used five gold coins."

"That's a bit much, but I could use a Pearl Handled Dagger and there are none up for auction."

"Give it a try," Gray said. There was a little gusto to his voice and he was momentarily ashamed of it. But then he thought, why not be a little enthused?

The second man dropped five coins into the box and reached his hand in. Gray uttered the same words he'd said before and again the green mist crept out of the box and up the extended arm. A moment later the man pulled his hand back and beheld a tan backpack.

"Hmm." The man peeked inside the bag. He counted aloud to twenty-four, then counted again, then looked at Gray. "I can't believe it. Sewn into the inside of this bag are twenty-four slots. I can put an entire army of items in here!"

The man showed a disinterested guard at the front gate, then ran down the street whooping and hollering.

"He's going to get himself knifed," Gray mumbled under his breath. A few minutes later a stream of curious people headed his way. Gray smiled.

#

Things went well for the better part of four hours until someone disappeared.

Sometimes, like the man with the bag, the customer got the better of the box, but most times the box returned an item less valuable than the money set forth.

Toward dusk, a dwarf stumbled along. Gray marveled at the dwarf's ability to remain upright while completely intoxicated. The dwarf paid meagerly for his turn then reached his hand in the box, nearly falling asleep while waiting. The green mist crawled up his arm, then over his whole body, and before anyone knew what was going on, the dwarf vanished.

Within seconds Gray's feet began to itch. A full minute later they felt as if they were on fire. The urge to move was irresistible, but Gray knew he couldn't move away from the box, so he closed the lid and slid on the shoulder harness.

People protested with shouts and threats, but Gray didn't stop walking.

"I'm sorry folks!" Gray called back. The murmuring died down as the distance between he and the crowd grew. He was glad no one followed him because he had no defense whatsoever against a would be attacker.

For the next few days, Gray tried to deny what he believed to have happened to the dwarf. The witch had said she needed people's souls. The man in town said curses could be placed on the box. The dwarf disappeared. All the pieces fit together a little too nicely.

Maybe next time someone would agree to take the box from him.

His next stop was the city of Lordaeron. His arrival was not as unexpected as his previous location. Apparently word traveled faster than he did and by the time he'd set his box down there was a long line of humans, dwarfs, and gnomes jingling coins in their hands.

Aren't they worried about disappearing like the dwarf had? Gray wondered. Regardless, he had a job to perform.

"Step right up!" he yelled. Then the coins and rewards began to flow.

This time, a human disappeared. The green mist surrounded the woman's tall body and she vanished without a sound. The crowd hemmed and hawed, but were more forgiving of the disruption this time.

Gray shut the lid and slipped on the harness. His feet compelled him and he started walking.

"Where to next?" someone asked.

"I don't really know," Gray answered.

"Stratholme. I bet he's headed to Strat."

And before Gray knew it, he had a trail of people following him out of the castle and down the path through Trisfal Glades.

#

The seasons changed. Leaves fell in the fall, the winter brought snow, and flowers bloomed in the spring. All the while, Gray Gribnik walked the land with a large box slung over his back.

He had plenty of long nights to mourn the life he'd left behind. He wondered if Pixie told his parents what had happened to him, or if maybe she had made up some lie to negate her role in his sudden departure.

For a long time, people were eager for his arrival, and a good time was had by all. All save the individual who vanished, naturally.

The third war brought about many changes. Gray kept his head down best he could while armies raged across the land. He watched Thrall move west and saw the fall of Lordaeron. But in its place came the Undercity and the undead made just as willing customers as the humans had.

Gray found his feet carrying him up some rickety stairs on a newly fashioned tower in Trisfal Glades then boarding an airship. The downtime felt wonderful as he was allowed, finally, to sit and feel the wind pass around his ears.

Once, in the very distant past, he dreamt of becoming a pilot. But that, and all other possible futures were put to rest the day he strapped the heavy box upon his shoulders.

Kalimdor was a wild and untamed place, yet it was also very hopeful. There were towns and villages springing up all over. But the most impressive of all, was Orgrimmar.

Inside, Orc peons dragged away the last few pieces of wood that had comprised the pike which had held aloft the head of a great dragon. Gray could still smell the scent of decay as he set his box down on the incline leading out of the city.

"Hear ye, hear ye. Come one, come all! Test your skills and bet your fortunes for the Box Man cometh." A few moments later a small crowd had gathered.

Gray leaned forward as if about to reveal a secret. "Unlimited treasure awaits the boldest of risk takers, or the wealthiest of bettors, it's all the same to the box. But beware the teleport, for she is as inevitable as the arrival of the sun each morning. Now, who shall be the first to test their luck?"

A tauren wearing a poorly dyed green robe stood at the front of the line. His large frame blocked out all others and they had no choice but to fall in behind him.

The Goblin watched as the tauren dropped fifteen copper coins into the box.

"Son, you do realize there's only one or two items the box would trade for that small amount of money."

The tauren nodded.

"Plus, you risk teleporting to an unknown location. That's always a possibility, regardless of the amount of money wagered."

The tauren shrugged.

"All right then, place your hand in the box!"

Green mist extruded from the box and swirled around the tauren's hand and danced around his arm. The onlookers leaned forward, waiting on baited breaths to learn the fate of the bold, if oblivious, tauren.

A moment later, the tauren pulled back his hand and stood tall as he became the proud owner of a shiny new copper dagger. He held it high for all to see. The crowd cheered, but only half-heartedly. Truth was, they loved it when someone disappeared. As long as it wasn't any of them, of course.

After several more low-paying customers had come and gone with their mediocre treasures, a wizened undead with half a jaw stepped forward.

"Our enemies abound," the old skeleton said in a barely comprehensible fashion. The emaciated man pulled a bag of coins from somewhere within his rib cage and emptied them inside the box.

"One hundred gold coins!" Gray barked. The crowd cheered, but the undead merely readied his bony hand, hovering it above the box.

The incantation began, the green mist swirled, and the undead's eyes widened as something began to take shape in his hand. He withdrew from the box and stared blankly at a scroll.

"Do you know what a D.O.T. is, goblin?" the skeleton asked.

Gray swallowed hard and nodded.

"I could have three of them on you in less than a second and leave you writhing in agony for all to see."

Gray pointed at the missive. "Perhaps you should read what the scroll offers before making your threats."

"Right," The skeleton unfurled his expensive paper. After a moment his eyes softened and if he'd had tear ducts they would have shed the mightiest of waterfalls.

Behind him, a crush of bodies leaned in as close as they dared. Sensing them, he brought his hands together hiding the contents of the scroll and turned. "It's mine, all mine!"

"But we don't even know what it is," said a tauren who towered over him.

'Yeah, just show us," an orc child said.

The undead sighed and a puff of air whistled through his dry teeth. "Oh, all right."

On the scroll was an image of a hat. But no ordinary hat was this, for the trim was white and puffy like the clouds above. The body of the hat was as red as a snapper and on top was a delightful, perfectly round ball of fluffy snow. Below the picture was a list of materials and sewing instructions.

Bony hands rolled the scroll closed greedily.

"But everyone knows they can't be crafted," someone in the crowd said.

"I'll be rich!" the undead stated then began circling his hands together. The mob tried to back up, but they were too slow as a massive, fire-hoofed horse appeared and bowled many of them over. "So long, fools!"

The skeletal horse whinnied and bounded away from the jealous onlookers.

"Another satisfied customer!" Gray called. A moment later the rush began anew.

The afternoon passed as coins flowed into the box and the weapons and armor flowed out of it. Someone won an Orcish Cleaver, while another won a Wild Leather Helmet. Even a Big Iron Fishing Pole made its way into someone's lucky hands. Until, at last someone arrived who piqued Gray's interest. A blood elf with a humorless expression approached, mace and shield at the ready. Her armor was so polished and pristine, tiny star shaped reflections of the sun burst off every part of her.

Gray had always assumed those who were teleported to the witch were chosen at random, but intuition told Gray this elf was the one going to disappear.

"My name is Calaria Del'spar. You would do well to remember this."

Gray nodded. He wanted the woman's name to mean something. Perhaps his instincts were wrong, but he was sure he'd never see this elf again. "Step right up," he said in a calm, rational voice.

The elf approached, slung her shield over her shoulder, then reached deep into a large bag on her waist. She pulled out a gigantesque sack of coins and turned it upside down. The coins fell like a never ending waterfall. The onlookers oohed and ahed at the display of wealth and daring.

The elf, stare fixed on the goblin, reached her hand inside the box.

Gray began his incantation and green mist surrounded the elf's hand, then a moment later, her entire body. At the last moment Gray thought he saw a perfectly round glowing shield surround the woman, but it didn't matter, she was gone.

Without a word, Gray closed the box and hoisted it onto his back. He turned and marched out of the city. The only sounds he heard were the groans of those he left behind.

Gray boarded the airship destined for Grom'gol thinking about the elf who had just been teleported. It almost seemed as if that were her wish. Certainly no one who came before the witch lived to tell about it. So why then did the woman clutch her weapon tightly, as if expecting to use it at any moment?

#

Calaria felt the soul draining spell hit her shield and feared for a moment that it wouldn't hold. It did. The spell link ceased and Calaria rushed forward grabbing the old woman and shoving her away from a table covered in bubbling potions. She smashed them with one skillful swing of her mace. The witch wailed as azure liquid stained the snow covered ground.

"What have you done?" the old woman cried.

Calaria's armor continued to glint as if the sun had somehow been bottled up and brought with her to the dark, cloud covered area where she now stood. "I have three questions for you, Witch," she said, brandishing a dagger pulled from her waist band. "The speed of your answers will determine the amount of pain you experience before your demise. Are you ready?"

The witch began casting a spell but Calaria brought her knee up into the old woman's chest, temporarily knocking the wind out of her.

"That isn't going to work, and I can do this all day. Now, question one. Where are we?"

The witch spat in Calaria's face. Reacting, Calaria slashed the old woman's cheek with her blade. Lines of blood trickled downward.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"I'll tell you nothing," the witch said and tried again to cast a spell.

Calaria was on her in an instant. "I told you no spells, Grandma. Now, where are we?"

The witch snarled. "Tanaris."

"The hard way it is," Calaria said. She threw the old woman, sending her sprawling over the table. The witch had the presence of mind to grab a broken glass bottle and salvage a sip of blue liquid from it after she crashed to the frozen ground. Calaria ran to the witch and batted the broken bottle from her hand. "Are you done playing games?"

"Is that your second question?" the witch taunted.

Calaria pinned the witch on the ground and positioned the tip of her dagger between the old woman's eyes. "No. My second question is, does your death break the curse on the goblin?"

The witch's eyes flared orange for a moment. Tiny flames flickered in her irises. "No."

Sensing she was nearly out of time, and having purchased only one body shield, Calaria rushed out her final question. "How can the curse be broken?"

"Had I answered yes to the previous question, what would your third have been?"

"Would you like the knife in the front or in the back," Calaria stated.

"A Paladin knifing someone in the back?"

"It was an option for mercy," Calaria said through clenched teeth. "Now answer the question."

"It seems to me," the witch said, her voice gaining confidence, "that the longer I delay my answer, the longer I stay alive."

Calaria forced her dagger against the old, wrinkled skin of the witch's throat. She could feel the witch's temperature rise. The old bag had recovered enough to ignite. Damn.

Time was up. If she were still holding the witch when the spell went off, she would be burned to death. If she pushed the witch away, a fireball would be her end. She had only seconds to decide.

"Answer me!" Calaria yelled.

"Sacrifice!" the witch growled. Then she ignited.

Calaria buried the dagger in the witch's neck and rolled off the dying woman. Her armor was on fire and she could feel it burning through to her skin. As fast as she could, she shed the enchanted armor but the pain became unbearable. She dove into a nearby pile of snow and smothered herself but the snow melted and turned to steam nearly as fast as she applied it. She screamed. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the spell dissipated.

Calaria quickly applied some salve and bandages to her burns. Sitting in the wet snow, she surveyed the scene she'd created. Armor clung to her body in mismatched parts. A bracer here, a shoulder pad there, leather straps underneath, half tied. A table of broken glass, a cauldron of bubbling blue liquid over a nearly extinguished fire. And of course a dead old woman.

A strange emotion arose in her chest. Not, she knew, because she had taken a life, but possibly because she had done something noble. It wasn't just the goblin whose life was about to change for the better, but everyone who would have died here in this cold wasteland.

She sniffled and ran the back of her hand across her nose. "Where the hell am I?" She stood and retrieved her mace and shield. She would need to play the role of Paladin a little while longer. Long enough to find the goblin and figure out what the witch meant by sacrifice. Soon, the box would be hers.

#

Gray languished in Grom'gol for three days before a teleportation took place. There were few customers, and those who did stop by had a long string of good luck. The sun passed overhead, followed by the moon, the sun again, and then it rained. Like a statue, he stood patiently, waiting for one who would risk, dare, and die.

When the inevitable occurred, Gray's feet picked up and his never ending journey continued. For a change, he was glad to be moving.

Gray thought again of the elf. She had brazenly given him her name, although he had already forgotten it, and reached in the box. Over the long silent days in Grom'gol Base Camp he'd come to the conclusion that the woman knew how to make the box teleport her to the witch. Did she battle the witch and survive? Or was she merely a victim like so many before her?

While trudging over the dusty ground of Westfall, listening to dried seeds crunch under foot, his thoughts turned to all the poor souls who had vanished over the years. Deep down, he knew each of their deaths were his fault. For the longest time he'd convinced himself that he was innocent, and that the witch was to blame. Yet it was he who had plotted to kill the old woman to gain her possession. That had started the chain of events which led him to those individuals. Sure, they were the ones who had gambled, but none of them wished to die.

His thoughts turned to his own existence. He'd witnessed the death and birth of nations and races; of empires that had risen and fallen. The only explanation was somehow the witch fed him eternal life through the box. Her victims were his fountain of youth. She had cursed the box, and turned him into her personal reaper.

This is how he came to the conclusion the elf had failed. His feet still carried him ever forward.

With the deaths of hundreds on his withered conscience, he crossed the bridge into Stormwind and heard a guard call his world-renowned name.

#

The spikes of Orgrimmar's ramparts came into focus as Gray rounded a small turn in the tunnel of cliffs just south of the city. A tall, lanky elf approached him. She brandished a mace and carried a shield but wore a tight leather outfit accentuating her soft curves and showing off her toned abdomen.

Gray was curious to see someone clearly intent on intercepting him. His feet would compel him to walk around her, but the confrontation would provide a few moments of distraction.

"Goblin, do you remember my name?" the woman asked falling into step with him.

"Should I?" Gray asked. He was surprised to realize there was something familiar about the elf.

"Calaria Del'Spar." She bowed.

Gray continued to stare intently at the elf's profile as his feet marched forward. Then he remembered, this was the elf that had been teleported on his previous visit to Orgrimmar.

"Impossible," he said. Nearly a year had passed since his last visit. Certainly his mind was playing tricks on him. If she had defeated the witch, why hadn't the curse been broken?

"A thousand gold coins and he doesn't remember me. What does it take, my little friend?"

Gray said nothing, but a chill ran up his spine. It was her. He looked down at his feet and studied the calluses that had become harder than the strongest leather shoes.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

People rarely wanted to know anything about him other than when he'd be arriving at their town. "The last person I fell in love with betrayed me. My feet bear the scars of that mistake."

"Love is never a... wait. Are you saying you love me?"

"No. I don't know you. But I am so glad you survived I don't know another word that sums up the lightness I feel in my heart. That feeling, felt only once before, led me to this fate. So as for what I'm thinking, I'm conflicted."

"You poor thing. May I touch you?"

Gray pondered this a moment then glanced up at the elf with tears in his eyes. He nodded.

"But this is awkward, us walking. Why don't you set the box down and sit with me a moment?"

Gray stared forward. He could just begin to see the duels taking place outside the gates of the city. "You know I cannot."

"But you can, if you give the box to me."

"It's not mine to give."

"I believe it is. Hmm, I just realized I don't know your name."

"Gray Gribnik. My mother used to say I was neither light nor dark, but a combination of the two, as were all souls."

"That's beautiful."

"I've since come to the conclusion she was wrong. My soul has been blackened by the deaths I've caused."

"I feel your pain, Gray. I believe you can relinquish the box to me if I ask."

Gray's eyes widened and he looked up at Calaria again. "Oh? I've had plenty of people ask for the box. Or try to take it. But after seeing what it can do, I'd rather it not fall into the wrong hands."

"But I'm a Paladin, I can be trusted with it."

"It's not a matter of trust. It's the curse. When I explain how it works people lose interest quickly."

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Gray nodded.

Calaria placed her hand on Gray's shoulder. "I accept the curse, and relinquish it from your weary soul."

Time slowed down for Gray. He watched his feet lumber forward, one after the other, kicking up little clouds of dust from each familiar footstep leading him toward his future. A future he could now change.

He could return to his homeland. He could become a Zeppelin pilot. He could find a wife, get married, have children, and possibly through them and the lessons he would teach them, find some measure of redemption.

Gray then imagined Calaria's petite form burdened by the weight of the box, her legs covered in dirt from the endless trail, her feet swollen and cracked like his. She had done nothing to deserve that fate. His fate.

"No," Gray said. "The box is my burden and my curse and I shall carry it until the day I die."

His feet stopped.

The weight of the box quickly became unbearable and he was forced to set it down. He slipped out from behind the shoulder harness and stared at the unmoving box without comprehension.

Calaria rubbed her hands together. "It worked."

"What worked?" Gray asked without turning around.

"I confronted the witch and asked her how to break the curse. She said only one word, 'sacrifice'. She meant you."

"I had to sacrifice my future?" Gray shook his head. Had it been that simple all along? "But what if I had agreed to your proposal to relieve me of the box?"

"The curse the witch placed upon you was a powerful one. So strong was the magic that it survived where she did not."

"You killed her?"

Calaria closed her eyes and bowed her head. "Had you agreed, I would be nearing the gates of Orgrimmar at this very moment with the box magically bound to my shoulders."

"You took such a great risk for me. Why?"

Calaria sat on the ground, bringing her level with Gray. She held out her hands and the goblin inched forward until she touched his cheek.

"Your pain called to me like a beacon. I knew I would be unable to live a happy life knowing someone was suffering as greatly as you," Calaria said, embracing Gray. "Now, if you could go anywhere in the whole world, where would it be?"

"Home," Gray answered immediately.

"Where is home?"

"Kezan," Gray said then smiled. "Yes, Kezan."

"Your life can now begin." Calaria stood and pointed toward the city. "Do you see the troll in the crimson robes?"

Gray looked into the distance until he spotted the troll.

"Phodius is a friend of mine. Tell him where you'd like to go, hold his hand, then step through the portal he creates."

"I'll be home?"

"Teleported directly to your beloved island."

"How can I possibly repay you?"

"Live a good life. If you can promise me that, I'll consider us even."

Gray nodded. He held Calaria's hand in his. She leaned forward and Gray kissed the back of her hand as vehemently as he could. Without another word, Gray sprinted toward the mage.

#

Calaria felt wonderful. She watched the goblin step through the portal and was glad to know he had at last returned home.

"So long, Gray Gribnik."

Calaria had always believed herself a better rogue than her father, and she was surprised to find her reasons for this affirmation stemming from righteousness and not wealth. In his lengthy explanations of the long con, her father never mentioned the possibility of a virtuous outcome. Perhaps he hadn't experienced one. She grinned.

"Finally," she said. She dropped her faux shield and placed her hands on her hips. "The curse is broken. You are just a regular Box O'Wonder again." She ran her hand along the carvings adorning the top of the chest. "Rumor has it, Box, that you possess a Slayer of the Lifeless somewhere in the deep recesses of your infinite magic. I don't care how long, or how much money it takes, someday I shall own that sword, and you will give it to me."

Calaria leaned forward and grabbed the leather harness in her hands. In response to its new owner, the harness grew to fit perfectly on the elf's shoulders. She heaved it up and marched at her own pace away from the city.

31


End file.
